


To The Stars, To The Void

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: As One Does, Backstory, Oblo's family, Original Character Death(s), Self Harm, he has to remove a chip in his arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Oblo is a ravager who was loyal to Yondu Udonta during the mutiny. This is not the story of that mutiny. This is the story of the young boy with three older brothers trying to get by on a rock in space, living their lives until he learns for the first time what a Ravager is.





	To The Stars, To The Void

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I love one random side character who has maybe 5 seconds of screen time. And we're all just hunky dory.

“Go fetch us a refill.”

“Ye, Pops.”

“And enough for your brothers this time!”

“Ye, Pops.”

“And don’t stop for a fekk li’l ground bulb or whatever it was ya got swindled with.”

“Pops. Stars and all, it was fer dinner. Makes the food taste like somethin’ _edible_. Y’know the fly folks would—”

Othlo kicked a boot towards his youngest boy’s rear, looking up from the engine block that he and his two oldest were neck deep in. The rubber sole didn’t quite meet Oblo’s seat, but it swung hard and would’ve sent him stumbling to the concrete floor. He ignored the other two laughing and tilted his head when Leblon spit at his feet at the garage entrance.

“Gross,” Oblo hissed.

“Mm,” Leblon answered with a shrug, pointing a thumb to the street as he chewed his ration, getting ready for another volley at his little brother. He scratched idly at a patch of poorly done marks over his bare shoulder, skittering ink between the rough flesh dug out by the hauler he’d been working on. “Run fast, chup.”

“I ain’t a chup. _You’re_ a fitsy li’l—”

Leblon snorted mucous up into his mouth, tilting his head back and lobbing it towards Oblo’s head. Oblo dodged quick, forking his thumb up to Leblon to tell him to fekk a plasma converter R1-7 tailpipe.

“Oo, chup’s got ‘is fangs. Gonna tell Ma.”

“You won’t.”

Leblon chewed obscenely again and snorted another wad.

“Gross!” Oblo shouted, slipping out through the alley on his way out to the house before Leblon could spit again.

It was bright out still. Three shadows split off from him as the illuminators blazed high in the sky. Oblo looked up to watch the heavy stream of haulers and freighters and Junker crafts zipping to and fro. He sniffled and streaked his greasy arm under his nose. All the grim was like a daily war paint. They joked, but they weren’t far off from being right. He pushed his hair outta his face, the mop sitting heavy down to his shoulders now. One time, yeah, Ma braided it? But then Leblon and Koflo pinched and prodded and laughed, callin’ him a doll. Said he’d be sent up to the bray belt for pickings. Oblo kept it loose most times, kept it long cause Ma liked it, sure, but sometimes it irked him. He snapped a brand off his belt loop and tied it up quick at the top of his head before he ran off towards the house to get their chips, slapping his hand-me-down boots on the pavement.

“Ma?”

“Here!” she called back after the bang of the front door announced him. “How’s today’s line?”

“Almost done with the Xandarians. Pops said we can finish Gillten’s rebuild by dark. And J’kor’s gonna—woop!”

Oblo scurried on quick through the house, nearly knocking over the stack of spare pistons for the Nova corp cruisers—the trick of the trade for a colonized mechanic was ya always replaced with the Nova Corp cruiser pistons and Kree piston rings to satisfy long enough until they could come back for another fix up.  Third patch meant finally upgrading them the other way and suddenly ya got smooth sailings for a million jumps or something. Oblo knew the number was high, not what the number _was_. Knew it made the customer happy when they got it right and usually came back to pops’ shop for other crafts just cause he were “honest.” Honest as the fekk illuminators keepin’ their rock lit up like a real stars damned sun.

“Sorry, Ma,” he said, fixing up the pile before he tripped into the kitchen. He looked up, sniffing twice. “We got gaelsom herb in our last ration?”

“Better ‘n salt, my boy.” Ma turned, waving him on towards the makeshift stove. Bonus of being part of the mechanics guild was having access to all the useless Junker parts off the pile to build up things round the house when Othlo and his boys felt like it. “Have a try.”

Ma held out a little wooden spoon, bubbly creamy goodness simmering in a big ol’ pot front of her. He stood up next to her and blew across the sample before he licked it up quick and hummed.

“That’s perfect, Ma.”

“Don’t I know,” she said with a laugh. And the sound of it was lovely.

Ma herself was a sturdy woman, a plain beautiful face with three little petals over her eyebrows. One of the Krylorians off colony. Oblo liked to sit in her lap during the dark while she looked up recipes on her cracked holopad and stare up at her soft golden eyes and kiss her little petal marks before he had to go off to bed. Cause he was soft or some such nonsense his brothers used to say, but they were just jealous. Oblo was convinced. Ma didn’t teach ‘em how to cook or nothin’ and they were gonna eat gruel and grubs for the rest of their miserable lives. Maybe not Othlu, the eldest, if he managed to get into the Nova Corps cadet program. Fingers snapped, toes cracked; all the good luck charms they knew.

“You was sayin’ ‘bout J’kor, honey?” Ma asked, turning back to add a few fat chunks of grubblins into the pot. Oblo smiled when he heard them hiss and pop from the heat.

“Right, yeah. J’kor’s gonna get the radial craft cylinders, long as we make trade next week. Think he wanted the ignition timing fixed for his cetalcytone fuel.” Oblo leaned against the counter next to the stove, watching Ma prep the rest of dinner with a lazy smile. He stood up suddenly. “Pops wants refills. Can I have his chips?”

Ma huffed, chopping the root vegetable on her board with extra “oomph” before she reached up and grabbed down the translucent chips from the kitchen counter. Oblo kissed her cheek as he took them and got a “be back ‘fore dark,” as a response.

“Always, Ma,” Oblo answered and sprinted out through the front door, another loud bang to signal his exit.

\---

It’s not that there was nothin’ to do on the rock, course, but it was getting’ close enough to dark that most everyone had sent out a convoy of sorts to pick up rations and refills as needed at the closest depot. Oblo huffed and rolled his neck as he saw a line trickling away and wrapping round the makeshift block around his depot. Not that he couldn’t do nothing about it if he didn’t want Pops or his brothers to call him a slaggy chup for missing their refills. They was gonna eat all the good bits of dinner and he’d have to have cold reserves. Nah, but Ma would save him some good. He told himself repeatedly as he got into line, standing between another young Xandarian and a lanky lookin’ Luphomoid behind him. They all clutched their chips and mostly kept to themselves. Some were smart to bring someone to talk to, chattering between each other easy as grease. Oblo watched the line advance and held his chips up tight to his chest, of course, but he turned an eye up to the line of fly craft again, wishing he could catch a glimpse of the stars through it all.

“Well, I ain’t takin’ ‘em,” said someone up ahead, another greasy lookin’ Krylorian with a mango-bright Ipsision.

“They got units?” asked the second. They kept their heads shaved, so Oblo couldn’t tell if they were boy or girl or forl, not that most could tell he was “conventionally” a boy neither. Comin’ up on fourteen solar cycles, just about. Not old enough to sprout to his full up and up height, nor to get a bit of scruffy like Othlu or Leblon—Koflo didn’t count cause he liked to shave, since he thought himself pretty enough to go up to the bars with the fly folk and flirt. He was gonna get in trouble. Sure enough as sure enough.

“I don’t care if they got units to pay my ass enough to buy outta the guild. I ain’t takin’ ‘em.”

“Foolish,” said the Ipsision.

“Yer foolish. You wanna take Ravagers so bad, _you_ can have ‘em.”

“Didn’t get contacted. You gotta pass first.”

“Don’t even wanna talk to ‘em, let alone pass. That’s my neck, Raeger. You cut my throat for me?”

“Yeah, I’ll cut yer throat,” Raeger answered, rolling their eyes.

Oblo licked his lips, trying not to look too obvious as he watched and listened. The line moved forward and he kept to himself, mulling over and over and over till he was at the front, looking a commission officer in the eye-plate.

“Requisition? Ration? Refill?”

“Refill,” Oblo announced and slid the chips on their metal ring across the counter. “Eight pints.”

“Refill request denied.”

“Denied? Then four,” Oblo shouted, shoving the rings across again when the commission officer tried to pass them back. Pops wasn’t gonna be happy with sharing just one, but they’d have to make due. It was getting dark out anyhow.

“Refill request accepted.”

The commission officer scanned out the chips, each of the translucent squares flashing green before they settled back to a soft glowing orange. The officer slid them back and Oblo clutched them up tight before he took the two jugs off the counter and started back towards the house. He got halfway before the quick “ding” through the colony announced the dark. The illuminators dulled to fire light, leaving an almost-glow for the fly folk up top. Oblo just clutched the jugs tighter to his chest and made his way back on home.

\---

Animals. The lot of them. No better than fangless chups.

Oblo put the dark brown jugs on the counter next to his Pops’ elbows as he came in, looking bent over and forlorn to see ‘em all at the table, tucked into their meals. Did they even care if he came back or not? It was now dark and they were eating happy as can be, Leblon scratching at his puffy dark ink and Koflo smacking Othlu’s hand away from his bowl and Othlu proclaiming loudly that none of ‘em could push him round when he was a Denarian for the Nova Corp.

“Oh, so you only got aspirations for the Denarians? Don’t think you go the chops for Centurion?”

“You’re a fekk li’l kraatar. Put yer powder on today before you go flirting up with the fly folk?”

“Watch yer mouth, boys.”

“Can’t watch my own mouth, Ma. Eyes up here.”

“Think yer so smart.”

“Think so. That’s why I’m getting into the academy. Ya love me, Ma, just say so.”

“Love to whap all yer heads with a spoon is what.”

“Even Oblo?” Othlu asked around a mouthful, winking at his youngest brother.

“Don’t bring me in when you fekks wouldn’t leave a ration for me. Y’know it’s dark. Ya think ya can’t—”

“Look at that. Now ya got him talkin’ gutter,” Ma answered, smoothing down Oblo’s hair as she tugged him into a side-hug. Oblo dutifully kissed her cheek before he slid off. His brothers made gestures at his expense and he quickly returned them.

“Hey, that’s only two jugs,” Pops said, looking up from his datapad full up on requisition reports from the guild. He scowled slightly at the refills Oblo had set beside him.

“Ye, Pops,” Oblo answered, wiggling up into the last chair set out for him. Been eight solar cycles where he had to either sit on Ma’s lap or stand at the table before they got another chair, and he clung to the basket seat beneath him like it was a safety blanket. “The officer denied my eight. Thought it was better to come back with a quarter than with none.”

“Quarter?” Othlo rolled his eyes, smacking Leblon on his unmarked arm to get up and go get glasses, which he did with a grunt and a growl. “Boy, yer simple. Ain’t a quarter if it’s four ‘stead of eight. How many times I gotta say—”

“One-four, you said,” Oblo answered petulantly, pointing across the table. “That’s a quarter. I got one fours instead of two fours, which is s’posed to be eight.”

“Stars on my eyes,” Othlo answered, leaning back in his chair like he was given a mortal blow.

“Yer fekk thick,” Othlu said, slapping Oblo on the back.

“No, _you’re_ fekk thick!”

“Say it again, boys. Say it again and yer all gettin’ whapped,” said Ma, holding up her wooden spoon before she squinted at Oblo and gave him a wink. She slid a bowl brimming to the top for him. Might be room temperature, but it was still the best sight he’d seen today. “Hungry?”

“Starvin’, thanks.”

Not like they all weren’t almost starving all the time, but this was one of the nicest dark meals they had in a while. Real gaelsom herb and fat grubblins in the stew. And maybe not enough of a refill of the ale that Pops and the boys liked, but some was better than none. It was almost perfect, despite it all. Leblon put three glasses down on the table, since Koflo had asked to be skipped tonight, and poured them all a shot. They offered some to Ma again but she declined too. Leblon jokingly held a glass out to Oblo, who shook his head with a scrunched-up face while chewing on a meaty bit of grubblin in the stew. That just got his brothers to laugh again, even though they didn’t say a word about Koflo skippin’ out.

“To the stars,” they boys said and clanked their glasses against their father’s cup. He raised it, muttered out quick, “To the void,” and they all drank down their first glass in a gulp.

Oblo ate while his brothers drank while his Pops read while his Ma smiled. Was the way of the home, was it was. Oblo undid one of his boots and tucked a foot up on his seat so he could lean against his knee, watching his brothers bawdy brawl at each other.

“Ye, see? This is why I saved m’self till I went to the bar,” said Koflo, shoving Othlu off him. “You wanna come, future fly boy, or are you stayin’ in?”

“I ain’t putting on my best shirt for them up top,” Othlu answered. “Yer the idiot wants to go so bad.”

“Why not stay inside tonight? It’s dark,” said Ma, carefully tearing a piece off the ration bread and swiping it across the edge of her bowl to sop up some of the good stuff. “We all can crowd round and watch a game?”

“Nah, it’s old recordings,” said Koflo, already up and picking off a slick leather coat from a hook in the hallway. Unfamiliar dark leather that made his Krylorian hide stand out. “Can’t even bet if we know who’s gonna win.”

“What, and you got bettin’ units?” Ma asked with a distracted smile.

“Nah,” Koflo answered as he came back over and kissed Ma on the head. “Final offer to come up. There’s a passing Ravager fleet coming through.”

“No thank you,” Othlu answered with a wave, pouring out another glass for himself and Pops. “Soon I’ll be arresting them types anyways. Best not give ‘em my face for free.”

“I’m tired,” Leblon answered simply, sitting back in his chair. He did look unnaturally bruised under the eyes, a little flushed across his face. “Hey, pour me one or pass the jug, ya greedy fit.”

“Not greedy,” Othlu answered, clinking the jug against Leblon’s glass. “Just waitin’ on yer manners.”

Another fork of the thumb. Another scrape of the chin between index and middle finger. Crude fekks. Oblo laughed at the sight of them, up until Pops pushed Leblon and he almost toppled out of his chair.

“Knock it off,” he warned and went right back to reading his requisitions.

“Sorry, Pops,” the two answered, settling down quick. They turned to Koflo, who was ready for the door. “Be safe out there.”

“Ye. To the stars,” Koflo said, raising an imaginary glass. Othlu and Leblon lifted theirs and answered, “To the void.” Pops mouthed “to the void” for his benefit as well without looking up once. Oblo just grinned, nodded at him, too busy copying Ma and tearing off little bite-sized pieces of his ration bread to dunk into the stew. _To the void_ , he thought, and snapped a finger by his side for luck.

After a time, Leblon and Othlu and Pops exhausted the first jug. They were discussing half-hearted deals, wondering if they could take more from J’kor or if they could get a freight line deal outta their neighbor in exchange for oil change on that beat-up hauler they had. They needed something big so they could buy out Othlu’s contract and get his application up to the Nova Corp cadet program. Close. So damn close. Little things. Easy things.

Oblo had finished up his meal and was collecting dishes to go clean, since that was always his job. As he carefully scrubbed off the plates from the clean bucket, he looked back at the others sitting quiet at the table.

“What’s a Ravager?” he asked, breaking into the mumbled conversations.

Nobody looked up. Ma and Pops were bent over the pads, calculating their necessities. Leblon was near asleep in his chair by then, almost snoring. His breathing was fast, short, but not uncomfortable yet. He could chew the last medipack tomorrow. Only Othlu looked up, his eyes glassy from drinking. He leaned hard on his knuckles, shaking his head back and forth.

“Crim’nals,” he answered quietly, blinking slow. “Jus’ a bunch o’ pirates. Y’don’t gotta worry ‘bout ‘em.”

“Oh, they ain’t just criminals,” Pops answered, running his finger pads across the scruffy of his chin. “They’re for hire. Work together. Fly together. They do them big heists shit, y’know. Stuff for like 500 k. Sometimes they got good units on ‘em, too, if you can get work for ‘em. Stars be damned, wouldn’t even be bad to get shipped off with ‘em, if they let ya join. Seen they went to Nanti first, but if we could get a commission off of ‘em? Might even get you outta here, Othlu.”

Othlu turned his eyes to Pops, blinking owlishly at him.

“Tha’s funny. Patron…patrony….patroned by…fekk Ravagers.”

“Alright, y’done and had enough,” said Ma, snapping her holopad up. “Don’t you gotta be at the guild tomorrow for assignment? Why don’t you take yer brother and head off to bed?”

Othlu let out a breathy “baaah” to Ma before he shoved off from the table and smacked Leblon. “’Ey. Ma says its off t’ bed.”

Leblon groaned, pushing Othlu off him as he carefully got up and nearly fell flat to the ground. Othlu caught him and laughed, dragging him towards the hammocks in the back. Leblon was big, but Othlu was strong and took his weight despite his inebriation. He ignored all of Leblon’s muttered cursing and what not and did as Ma said. Took him off to bed.

“Do Ravagers get paid?” Oblo asked, returning back to the dishes, which he was just buffering a lot with a mostly-clean rag. Clean enough rag. “Like. For their thieving and stuff? They get to keep what they take?”

“They get paid,” Pops answered with a shrug. “How else can they afford their m-ship upkeeps, right?”

“Ye,” Oblo answered with a small inward smile.

“Ye. Now, finish up and go make sure yer brothers ain’t dead.” Which was just Pops way of saying to leave him and Ma alone so they can be cuddly and whatnot together. He was not going to argue that. Cuddling up and all that was _gross_.

“Ye, Pops,” he said and put away the last dish. He kissed Ma on the cheek again before he left for the shared room where they all slept.

“Night, baby,” she said softly, leaning over for his kiss.

“Night, Ma. Night, Pops.”

“Mm,” was Pops answer, and that was good enough. Didn’t need more or less before he went to bed. Or, at the very least, laid in the hammock and listened to Othlu and Leblon snore long through the night, watching the warbly window beside him to see if the traffic would clear just enough. Just enough to see some stars. Bet Ravagers saw the stars. All the freedom of the void, all the riches of their spoils. Yeah, maybe people like Nanti didn’t want to deal with them and maybe Nova Corp like Othlu would hunt ‘em down and arrest them, but it was quite attractive to think. To dream.

\---

“ _Wake up._ ”

Oblo felt his everything shake from the force of someone grabbing him and jerking him outta the hammock with a raspy, half-screamed whisper. He gasped, resurfacing from his childish dreams to see Pops hauling him from the room.

“Pops? Whuh…where….?”

“Get yer shoes,” Pops commanded, letting go soon as he was sure Oblo was steady enough to walk. Oblo staggered anyways, grabbing the wall, looking through the kitchen windows. It was still dark out. Way too early to even think of going up to the guild yet. “Shoes, boy. Coat, too, c’mon. We gotta be quick.”

“Pops? Whuh happened?”

He was too tired yet to see Othlo’s panicked face, his hair tussled, and the color drained from his cheeks. He wondered why Othlu or Leblon weren’t shaken awake only to see his brothers already dressed in the shadowy kitchen. Leblon was sitting in a chair, trembling hard, his mouth a thin red line. Othlu looked as crazed as his father.

“Where’s Koflo?” Oblo asked, tugging on his second boot and stomping it down so his toes zinged some of the dead weight out through the floor. Soon as he said it he understood. Mistake.

“We got two cycles before patrols go out,” Othlu was saying, looking at Ma’s hologram before he pulled up a red, glitzy looking advert for a bar up top. “This one. He always goes to this one.”

“You take Oblo. We gotta get him back here ‘fore the patrols find him and unregister him.”

“Unregister?” Oblo’s stomach dropped and he almost fell into the kitchen table. “Unregisters for when someone d—”

“Go,” Pops demanded, shoving Oblo over towards Othlu. “Leblon, we’re…fekk.” He kneeled beside his son, touching his forehead and grabbing his wrist quick. He shook his head, wiping sweat away from Leblon’s forehead. Leblon didn’t even move to protest such soft sorta treatment. He moaned, leaning against Pops. “ _Fekk_. You two, go. Get ‘im back here. Where’s the fekk medipack?”

Othlu grabbed Oblo’s arm and was ready to drag him out when Oblo slipped free and ran over to Ma’s cabinet. He threw the short wooden doors open and dug around, slamming a gray little pack on the table. Didn’t look much bigger than a thumbprint, the gelatin a little more marbled than it should be. They couldn’t afford anything better. Pops snatched it up and looked down at Oblo, nodding once.

“Go,” he said again, quieter. Oblo snapped his fingers by his side and ran over to his brother, leaving the warm comfort of their home to slip into the shadowy streets.

Oblo had never been up to the fly folk bars. His playground was always the cement alley near their house and the garage where they took their work. There were a few other kids in the area that he befriended simply because social bonding pushed ‘em all together, but they weren’t friends as in “comrades.” They were friends as in “necessity.” And Pops never took him to go to the guilds. _Not yet_ , he always said. _Not yet_. Farthest he ever went was to the depots to pick up supplies. Weren’t long before Oblo and Othlu were gone far enough that Oblo didn’t think he could find his way back home.

“Othlu,” Oblo whispered harshly, racing to keep up with his long, stretchy frame, his shadow creep-creeping after him. “Othlu, how come Pops said ‘unregistered?’”

Othlu glanced over his shoulder. It was hard to see in the dim light of the illuminators. He couldn’t tell what kinda scowl Othlu was wearing on his face in the dark. But he grabbed Oblo’s hand and tugged him up beside him, both crouching in an alley as they watched for any patrol to come by. And while Oblo appreciated Othlu holding his hand as such, so they couldn’t get separated in the dark, he was still wiggling with want for an answer.

“Othlu? How come Pops said—”

“He’s gone,” Othlu answered, his voice surprisingly steady, slicing clean through Oblo’s question. Oblo looked up, trying hard as he could to see through the dark. He could feel his oldest brother trembling and it only made Oblo’s lip start wobbling. Oblo sniffled, wiping his nose quickly. Othlu gripped his hand tighter, pulling him in closer. “We gotta get him, alright? Foolish to go up to the fly folk bars, I said, but…he thought that’s how he could get out, yeah? Yeah, like Nova Corps’ gonna help _me_ get out. Oblo. We gotta get him. He’s unregistered, we can’t collect his chips. We can’t collect his rations. We get fewer commissions, we make less money. We gotta do this for Ma and Pops. Alright? Alright, we’re doing this for Leblon. Get him another medipak ‘fore he gets real sick from that stars damned infection. Get you food and clothes what match you and get you outta here. That’s why. That’s why we’re doing this. We’re doing this for you, alright?”

It was even harder to try and see through the dark when his eyes went all fuzzy with tears. Othlu shook his head, gripping Oblo by the shoulders now.

“You cry when we get home. You cry when we got him back, you hear? Swallow it up, li’l chup,” Othlu said hastily.

Oblo whimpered once more, nodding uselessly, since Othlu could see as well in the dark as Oblo could. He wiped his eyes quick, back and forth, and swallowed the ball of needles in his throat. When he thought he had control of his voice again, he whispered, “Okay,” and that was that.

The streets became brighter, bleeding neon colors across patterned stones in the alleyways. The filth wasn’t so heavy, the air somehow cleaner up here. Traffic roared louder, distant thunder that became a constant churn, a violent beast eating up the sky. No stars. Not that Oblo could see, but he was keeping his eyes locked on Othlu’s back as they slipped through until they were just outside the bar that had been rotating all pretty on the holopad back home.

Oblo’s never seen anything glitter as such. Flashes of red and gold neon stripe around in provocative arcs around the bar, too many people spilling out and making so much noise like they don’t care about getting caught by a patrol or nothing. Well, up here. Fly folk probably don’t have to worry about any of that. That’s just to make sure everyone in their guilds down below is in their place at the time they should be.

Oblo feels shaky again, his chest tightening. He expects to see Koflo lying broken on the pavement just outside, fly folks stomping on his fancy leather jacket with no care in the world.

“W-W-W-here is he?” Oblo managed to stutter out near Othlu’s side.

Othlu grabbed his hand, scanning the crowd. A crew of people come up close by and Oblo shrinks further into the shadows, expecting one of them to turn and point dramatically, calling the attention of the patrol. But they don’t turn. They’re laughing, and it sounds so ugly in the chaos around them. They joke. They move on. They don’t even know what’s transpiring like in the alley, what the two Krylorians are going through. Oblo feels something hot in his throat then.

“We gotta get to the back,” Othlu whispers in Oblo’s ear, making him jump.

“How d’you know?” Oblo asked back, trying to swallow again, trying to keep from crying.

“J’kor said,” Othlu answered and shook his head. “Stupid bastard. I’ll kill ‘im after we get Koflo back.”

“Why?” Oblo asked, his voice cracking.

“Wouldn’t understand, li’l chup.”

“I’m not a chup.”

“Hey. Yer my li’l chup. Always will be,” Othlu answers, and swats Oblo’s chest, his eyes sparkling in the red and gold light. “Follow me. Ready?”

Oblo snaked his hand back into Othlu’s grip, chewing his lip between his teeth to keep it steady. “Ready.”

It already felt like the biggest transgression just walking, just stepping into the light that weren’t there’s to see. Oblo gripped Othlu’s hand tightly, staring up at everyone and everything he could possibly set his eyes on. Soon he was dizzy, sick in his stomach and buzzing in his skull as he tried to keep up. Othlu jerked his hand to get him to walk straight, force him to pay attention so nobody looked at the two grubby lookin’ kids from down below who thought they could just sneak up to the bars like ya like.

They pushed through the crowds and found another tight alley that wrapped around to the back of the bar. People were still piling up everywhere, but they thinned out back here, till it was just Othlu and Oblo turning another sharp angled corner and into a refuse bin. Oblo recognized it from the dump pile that Pops and him would scavenge for on their quiet days, looking for spare parts not yet picked off by the other vultures. Just the sight of it made Oblo’s chest tight again.

“I don’t like this,” Oblo wheezed, holding Othlu’s hand.

“Yeah? Well, we don’t fish him out, then we’re really in trouble. They’re gonna scan him and he’s unregistered and that’s your fekk future,” Othlu said, shaking his hand loose and pushing Oblo back when he tried to cling to another appendage. “Oblo. We gotta do this. Hey! We gotta do this.”

“I don’t care ‘bout what my future is or isn’t,” Oblo said, his eyes leaking again. “Let’s just go. Maybe J’kor was wrong. Maybe he—”

Othlu shoved Oblo down again, hard enough that he crumbled to the pavement. Othlu didn’t apologize. He turned, went straight to the refuse bin, and threw the lid open. His hand flew to his face, covering mouth and nose in a tight grip, pale pink grip. But he didn’t gag none. No, didn’t say a peep. He shook his hand out and nodded, once, to himself.

Oblo was still sprawled out on the pavement when Othlu dragged the familiar body out of the trash. There was something greasy and black on the jacket. Shoulders were torn too. The hair was all stringy with garbage and grease, matted down on the right side near his ear. Near where his ear _used_ to be. Stars and void. Oblo choked out a sob as Othlu hauled Koflo to him.

“No,” Oblo whispered.

“Ye, Oblo.” Othlu’s lip was trembling hard, till he sucked his cheeks in and bit down on them. “Yes. Help us up. We’re carrying him back.”

“We can’t carry him all the way,” Oblo answered, his voice all sticky and weak. “We can’t carry him. We can’t—”

“Hey!” someone called down the alley and Oblo sprinted to Othlu’s side, hugging onto him as he helped prop Koflo up between them. He almost gagged. Best swallow that up too. “Hey, what’re you two doin’ back here? Huh? This establishments for paying travelers only, alright? You wanna scrounge, you best head on back down to—”

“Sorry, sir,” Othlu said, hefting most of the weight of Koflo onto his shoulders. “Retrieving my brother, is all. Had too much to drink.”

“Listen, pal. We don’t serve you lot. So you wanna pull a dirty—”

“No, sir,” Othlu said and Oblo could feel his brother vibrating beside him. He wondered from what. Anger? Despair? Fear? “Nothin’ dirty. We’re just—”

“The seven blue hells goin’ on over here?” someone else asked, shoving into the alleyway. Oblo didn’t need to see them to know they were slurrin’ hard from drink. He wondered if they also had to barter out their rations of it they were just slappin’ down chips easy as anything. “Hey. Vandor. Whatchu yellin’ at over here any—”

“Nothin’ to be concerned with, Captain,” the sleezy fekk at the end of the alley responded, turning quickly and bowing slightly in the direction of the new group. “Just clearing out a few ruffians.”

“Ruffians? What, so you don’t like Ravagers at your bar no more?”

Oblo’s heart leapt up. _Ravagers_. _Here!_

“No, sir, of _course_ we love your patronage. Let me fix you another—”

“Fuck off, Vandor.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain?”

“Fuck _off_ , Vandor,” the other person said. “My cup’s gone an’ run out. Ey. Go git me another, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” the first person said, bowing again. He glanced back, glaring at Othlu and Oblo, before he scurried out of the alley as best he could. It left only the new group of strangers at the head, blocking them in.

The head of the group was a lean lookin’ blue guy, something red and metallic cut across the middle of his skull and tapering off down towards the nape of his neck. Oblo’s eyes were wide as he saw the man approach, two others in similar leather gear flanking him. The blue guy swept back the edges of his coat, revealing a holster of sorts at his hip.

“Whatcha doin’ back here, fellas?” the man asked with a sharp, toothy grin.

“Nothing, sir,” Othlu answered quietly, shifting again to accommodate Koflo’s weight. Oblo clung to Othlu’s side tightly, inadvertently pinching skin. “Just headin’ on home. Wouldn’t want to be any bother.”

“You couldn’t be a bother if ya wanted,” the blue man said, scratching at a silvery patch of scruffy on his chin. “So yer some of them indentured folks down in the rocks, huh?”

“We’re mechanics. Part of the mechanic guild,” Othlu answered obediently. He tried to shake Oblo’s hand off his side.

“You’re Ravagers,” Oblo said quickly, reverently, almost like the words leapt outta him of their own accord.

The blue man turned his intimidating red eyes down on Oblo, squinting as he studied him. Took him apart. Skewered him, almost.

“Yondu, why don’t we just—”

“Shut it,” Yondu answered, raising a hand to the skinny lookin’ Xandarian on his left. He pointed again towards the brothers. “He drunk or dead?”

Othlu waited a beat, breathing hard before Oblo answered in his place, “Dead.” Othlu swatted his little brother harder, but Oblo ignored him, fixated on Yondu and his red metal crest and his uniform and the men who followed him. “He’s our brother.”

“You kill him?”

“No! No, sir,” Oblo answered.

“Stars be damned, Oblo, shut yer mouth,” Othlu hissed at him.

Yondu turned his gaze on Othlu, narrowed it. Whatever he saw there, he didn’t find much interesting, because he focused on Oblo again. “Why you retrieving a dead brother in the middle of the night from this dump, huh? Vandor’s pretty much a stickler ‘bout that rule of only serving people who are passin’ through.”

“We just—”

“Uh-huh,” Yondu said, jutting his chin out at Othlu. “Not you. That one.” And he pointed at Oblo. Oblo swallowed again, stepping away from Othlu by inches. “Why you retrieving a dead brother?”

“B-because,” Oblo answered and knew that wasn’t enough, sure as sure is. He cleared his throat, daring to take another step forward. “Because if he’s found…he’s unregistered. We lose his rations. We need ‘em. We’re scraping by like and….” He turned to look back at Othlu, who’s face was a grim mask. “This is how we’re gonna get outta here.”

“Mm. Whatchu do?” Oblo tilted his head and Yondu sighed, snarling a little. “Whatchu good at? You got any skills?”

“We’re…we’re all part of the mechanic guild. We…my family builds engines. I learned right from Pops and everything. And I can cook some. Better ‘an just gruel and grubs. Even learned how to make some bread.”

“Bread,” Yondu said with a snort. He looked over his shoulder at the other two, who shrugged their answer. He looked back and smiled at Oblo again. “You want off this rock, boy?”

“No. No, Oblo, let’s just—”

There was a whistle, quick and slick like, that split their ears same as the streak of red that suddenly erupted from the holster at Yondu’s hip. Oblo didn’t see the arrow so much as feel its approach, staring wide-eyed as he watched the afterburn of red lace the night sky and hover in front of Othlu’s brow.

“You need to learn to keep yer mouth shut,” Yondu said, stepping in closer as the arrow twirled lazily in the air. That red metal crest on Yondu’s head was beating red, almost like a heartbeat. “Yeah, he’s yer brother an’ all, but he speaks up. So I’m askin’ him first.”

“Yondu,” one of the Ravagers groaned, rolling his eyes at the edge of the hallway. Seemed the other one had decided to keep his mouth shut too and only that tall skinny lookin’ fella wasn’t as afraid of the magical arrow as everyone else rightfully was. Oblo was, certainly. It flew on its own! But he stared more mystified than terrorized.

“Yer…yer askin’ me…to join you?” Oblo asked slowly, piecing together his words as they surfaced. “To join your Ravagers?”

Yondu flicked his eyes down again, that smile cracking cruel-lookin’ teeth across his face. “Sounds like it, don’t it? We need another engine hand and, truth be told, somebody who knows their way ‘round a kitchen wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Will I get paid?”

“Oblo, d—”

Yondu whistled and the arrow turned closer, spiraling into Othlu’s cheek, just below his eye. Othlu screamed out, jerked back, but the arrow followed close. It burned his skin, cauterizing the little mark instantly.

“Shut yer stars damned mouth, boy,” Yondu spat, leaning in closer with a grungy lookin’ blue claw pointed right at Othlu’s face. “I told ya once. I whistle again and that arrow’s going through your skull. That’s one less brother to worry about. One less mouth for yer family to feed. And I don’t know who you got left back home, but maybe you wanna leave those dear sweet parents of yours any of their babies left to take care of.”

“Will I get paid,” Oblo said again, insistently, stepping up to stand between Othlu and this Yondu guy.

Yondu slid his eyes away from Othlu, trained them on Oblo, and smiled. “You join up, you get paid. Won’t be easy work. We’re putting you on engines, like I said, and maybe in the kitchen, after we’re sure you won’t poison nobody. That’s how it works.”

Oblo wasn’t going to ask why this Yondu guy bothered. Why he picked a dirty little kid outta the alley ‘stead of his brother who was bigger and better by galactic miles. Oblo didn’t need an answer. He needed to get out, like Othlu said. He needed to give Pops and Leblon and Ma and Othlu the chance to make enough money to get out themselves. He needed to go off with Ravagers and steal as many units as he could get and send them back and buy them out. And, yeah, maybe Othlu _would_ join up with the Nova Corps and come after him. Maybe he would help him first and there’d be no need. But Koflo was dead. The rock was spinning on fine and easy without him, same as it always would, till they were all dead.

“Can I have a moment?” Oblo asked. “To say ‘bye an all?”

Yondu shrugged. He whistled again through his teeth and Oblo almost screamed, expecting to see the arrow split through Othlu’s skull. Instead, it sailed back to Yondu, who caught it deftly and slid it just as easy into the holster again. He waved at them, turning his back to the other two Ravagers. One of them immediately set on him with, “What in the blue hells are you even _thinking_? Why are you—?” Their voices trailed off as Yondu led them out of the alley, giving the brothers a moment of peace.

“Why are you doing this?” Othlu asked, echoing the Ravagers question to his brother. Oblo was already pawing his chest and pockets.

“Give us yer knife,” he said quickly.

“What?”

“I know you gotta take it outta Koflo. Give it to me,” Oblo said again, reaching for Othlu.

Othlu jerked back, but he was weighed down by Koflo, unable to jerk out of reach before Oblo grabbed the little pocket knife out of Othlu’s belt. He flipped the blade open, looking at it, the way the neon glinted off its edge. He pushed up his sleeve quick and sliced over the implant in his forearm, pushing air out quick through his teeth in an angry hiss as he dug out the small silver cylinder. Oblo cursed and cursed again, smashing his arm up to his chest as he folded the knife away carefully and slid both objects back into Othlu’s pocket.

“You got two extra rations,” Oblo said softly, humming an angry sound through gritted teeth. “Keeps commissions the same. You need this. You said.”

“You ain’t goin’ with them. Alright? You ain’t s’posed to leave with them. They’re fekk _Ravagers_ , Oblo.”

“Ye. And they’re gonna pay me. And I’m gonna send back what I can. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” Othlu said, still holding onto Koflo. “You can’t. You don’t know. You—”

“Hey.” Oblo grabbed up Othlu and hugged him, his arm wrapped around Koflo as well. “You tell Ma and Pops where I’m going. You don’t lie. And if you get into the cadets academy, look for my bounty, right?”

“Bounty.” Othlu’s frame was shaking again, either from the effort of holding all of Koflo’s weight up or from the tears he was stopping up quick, strong as ever. Swallowed them till he got home. “Yer a fekk fitsy chup.”

“Ye. Pro’ly.” Oblo laughed, wiping his nose again as he stepped back. “Don’t be jealous cause I got out first and all.”

“Koflo got out first,” Othlu said humorlessly.

“Ye, so don’t follow him.”

Oblo stepped back, an arm out to motion to the neons, the other clamped up tight to his chest. He’d ask if he could get that patched up later, or if he was just gonna have to strip up his shirt and make do. He was fine with either. Maybe he’d have to ask a lot of questions and figure it out, but this was better. This was the best thing he could do for them. He was a dumb kid, sure, but he was doing what he needed.

He raised his hand up to Othlu again. “To the stars, Othlu.”

Othlu clamped his jaw up tight, but he managed to shift enough of Koflo to raise his hand, clinking it against Oblo’s hand. “To the void.”

The hugged again before Oblo left the alley first, stepping up to Yondu and offering to join up officially. “Like, do I gotta sign my name or something?”

“…he’s a flarkin’ kid,” said the skinny Xandarian, who didn’t look like he was much older than Oblo by far. “He’s a flarkin’ _kid_ , Yondu.”

“Yeah?” Yondu shrugged, batting back the other Ravager. “An’ what’re you, Kraggles?”

“Flarkin’ shit,” the other Ravager answered, rollin’ his eyes as he stepped away.

“That sounds about right!” Yondu laughed, hard, slapping Oblo on the back as he led him off to the crowd. He could hear Yondu say, “Ey’, why you bleedin’?” but the question wasn’t important. Oblo looked back to the alley to see if Othlu and Koflo made it, but they were already gone, already slipped back into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Oblo doesn't know how to get home, how in the HECK is he supposed to send units back to his family? Oh, that's right, he probably can't. Way to GO, Oblo!


End file.
